Deduce Me Now
by Mrs.JohnReese
Summary: How can I explain it? How I ended up here. How I would come to be, broken and partly alone; with the one person I wanted most ripped away from me for good? I suppose I could detail recent events...little glimpses into the chaos of our lives. Or I could do the rational...the logical...thing. And I could start...from the beginning. Sherlock/OC Please R&R! Rating may change ;)
1. Where We Are Now

I can still remember it. The day I first met Sherlock Holmes. He, and his new flat-mate, Dr. John H. Watson had barely spent two seconds inspecting their soon-to-be home; before they were darting off on a case. Or rather, another of Sherlock's many _adventures_. I can still see the astonished look upon my mother's face. The look that surely mirrored my own at our enigmatic tenants' rapid departure…and a look that, perhaps unbeknownst to us at the time, spoke of how we knew that we too would become involved in their schemes.

I can recall the day that I _really_ got to know Dr. Watson. The day he asked me to please, for heaven's sake, call him John…the day I got my first look at one of their cases. The day I inadvertently helped them to solve one. And the day I realized that I was completely and irrevocably _smitten_ with everyone's favorite consulting detective.

How that happened, I can't really explain. Obviously, Sherlock Holmes is about the farthest thing from 'relationship' material that you could ever possibly meet. He was distant. Cold. Honestly frightening sometimes. And he possessed a knack for getting excited over the most inappropriate things…

Sherlock with a case was a whirlwind that could only be understood by observing him in action. Observations…deductions…and always that sense of calm superiority when Lestrade and the others had to admit he was right. But Sherlock _without_ a case…

That was something altogether more unnerving.

I suppose that was where it all began, with us. If you could even call us 'us.' Weeks going by without a peep from Lestrade had rendered Sherlock in perpetual boredom; tinged with flares of unbridled vehemence. And that vehemence, combined with my own short temper at having yet another job offer fall through cumulated into something that neither one of us were capable of stopping. Snide remarks sparked sharp retorts, and before I could fully comprehend what was happening…

Suffice it to say that our 'one-time' incident repeated itself…at first only when boredom ran rampant in the tiny flat we shared. But then it slowly progressed. Simple touches…a look from across the room…anything could spark it. But nothing could _explain_ it. Sherlock wasn't a man of affections. Of course I knew that. But what we had…what we shared…it meant more to me than I think he could ever comprehend.

I never told my mother, of course. Or John. Not at the start. I assumed Sherlock wouldn't want our trysts getting about; even though I was fairly certain neither one of the people in question would have uttered a word. But perhaps more importantly, I myself feared that, if I _were_ to admit to what we were doing out loud; it would make it…real. Undeniable. And I suspected that, were it to become real; it would inevitably flare out. Like a candle's flame when you accidentally left it within range of the nighttime breeze at your window. I had never had anything like…whatever it was…before. And a small, albeit dominant part of me, was hell-bent on keeping it secret. Safe.

That tactic worked, for a while. Cases came and went. Job offers appeared and disappeared as often as you could expect. And Sherlock and I carried on, as we had, for months. I wouldn't really say we were 'happy' in the truest sense of the word. But we were as close to it as we could be. Or at least _I _was.

And then, the unthinkable happened.

_James Moriarty._

He had been a threat to us before, of course. Whether blatantly, or subtly, I don't think there ever truly was a day when any of us went without looking over our shoulders…checking around corners…just to be safe. He always picked the most inopportune times to step into our lives. And though I think, to some degree, Sherlock _enjoyed_ that presence; there was a part of him…perhaps a part of him that only I was partially aware of…that worried about it. I had seen, over the course of our time together, how he had grown perhaps as fond of my mother…John…dear Molly…as he was capable of being. And the very real threat Moriarty presented put us all in danger. That much was never a secret.

What had been a secret, however; was the way in which it would all come crashing down around us.

I can still recall exactly what I was doing the moment John called me to say that Sherlock had…that he was gone. I had been sitting in our living room, my eyes glued to a fashion magazine that I never bothered to comprehend. I was, instead, trying to think of the best way to bring up the newest little 'hitch' that had entered our lives…a bit of information that I never had the chance to disclose to the one I wanted to tell the most.

Sherlock Holmes…was dead. Gone. Forever. The permanence of that knowledge quite literally broke me in that moment…there had been so much I had wanted to do…to say…I had wanted to get to the bottom of what it was we were doing, carrying on as we were; especially given my newest set of circumstances. To figure out where we were to go from here.

But I never got the chance. I had to carry on alone. And for three years, now; perhaps my only real source of strength has been the small gift that God had chosen for me. The gift with a set of bouncy brown curls atop his head that reminded me, _painfully_, of what had been lost. Of what I could have possibly had…but didn't. My little one was every bit his father's son; although he would never fully get to see that for his own…but I treasured the small moments I shared with him, and him alone after everyone else had gone to bed and stopped their endless carrying on over him. Though I of course didn't mind in the least how my mother and John had taken to helping me with the boy when my need to contribute _some_ form of financial gain to our flat took over; there was something to be said about holding him in my arms at night, just the two of us, as the sounds of the city nightlife drifted into our shared bedroom. The bedroom that had once been his father's.

I suppose, though, that what would really serve to lend a better understanding as to the reasons behind my actions; and those of the ones I love, would be for me to stop dwelling on the ever present pain I feel at Sherlock's absence, and to instead go back to where it all started. To rewind this tale to three years in the past…

To start at the beginning. Or rather…the beginning of the end.

…

**Well it seems I've gone and done it! I succumbed to my (potentially ill-informed) desire to write out the first little teaser of my very own Sherlock fanfiction. I've only recently acquired access to all the episodes up until the ending that we have so far…hence why I dove right into where Season 2 left off at first; so that I might have more time to catch up on everything I've missed.**

**That being said, I do ask you to please bear with me as I try to get things straightened out as far as plot goes. I have a vague idea of where this is going. But of course, as I see the episodes instead of just subsisting off of clips, things may change. That, and I'm also knee-deep in another fic over in the Star Trek universe that still requires my attention…so please know that, even if updates are not 'frequent', your patience will be rewarded in time!**

**So that leaves us to the final question. What did you think? Should I keep it? Scrap it? I'm really quite excited to hear your thoughts! So please, PLEASE don't hesitate to leave them! And thank you all so very much for taking the time to read this!**

**Until next time (I hope?)**

**MJR**


	2. First Encounter

_I suppose, though, that what would really serve to lend a better understanding as to the reasons behind my actions; and those of the ones I love, would be for me to stop dwelling on the ever present pain I feel at Sherlock's absence, and to instead go back to where it all started. To rewind this tale to three years in the past…_

_To start at the beginning. Or rather…the beginning of the end._

…

How to explain it…what led me here? I certainly didn't start off with the idea of working in my aunt's sandwich shoppe as a part of my future. I did not plan to spend seven months of my teenage life living on the streets; until said aunt took me in and gave me a new life. But I suppose, to start there, would be the only logical way to explain it. The only way to make any of this make sense.

The only way to ensure that you didn't leave this tale thinking I was stark-raving mad.

To be blunt, I suppose I could start with telling you that all of this…all of my little quirks and nuances of personality began with Julianna Stanford. My mother; at least in name. Truth be told, she never was much of a nurturing type…she never disclosed much to me regarding my birth, other than the fact that she had never wanted a child; and as I grew up, I can recall many a time that she left me in the care of her sister so that her life could go on as unchanged as possible. You could say I barely knew her; beyond her love for alcohol and strange men….and, of course, the switch, when I stepped out of line.

I never knew who my father was, either…not until much later; when the knowledge could really and truly break me. I grew up entirely alone for the most part; left to my own devices more often than not, and punished if I managed to put one toe out of line. I suppose, to say that I had a pleasant childhood…

Well, at the risk of invoking all sorts of clichés, it was most definitely _not_ pleasant.

There really is no way to adequately explain how it is being raised by a mother who doesn't want you…not really. It's something you have to live for yourself. Something that can only be understood through experience. The one thing I _can_ convey with certainty though, is that knowing from the start that you were simply a reminder of a relationship gone wrong…it had a way of rendering you in a perpetual state of inferiority. Or at least, it did me.

Maybe I _was_ as weak as everyone told me I was. Maybe I just wasn't strong enough emotionally to deal with the scars my mother carried around with her on a day to day basis. Maybe I really _did_ deserve all the abuse…maybe that's what those who couldn't fend for themselves lived with. Grew used to. Regardless, I fumbled my way through life with these problems for what seemed like an eternity; only sinking further into silence and solitude when my mother remarried. That was when the _real_ fun began.

My mother drunk and angry was one thing. But Reginald…that was an entirely different story. A story that became my own, until I finally garnered enough courage to go to the police…or at least, when I _almost_ made it to the precinct; before I was caught red-handed, as it were.

Then, of course, my mother was faced with a choice. Her brand new husband…or her daughter.

It doesn't take a genius to realize that I found myself out on the streets faster than you could blink an eye.

I didn't want to go to family…to run the risk of one of them alerting the authorities was something I couldn't even dream of. I was petrified that, should anyone find out what I had been living through, Reginald would come for me to settle things on a more permanent venue. So I tried my best to survive on my own…and I failed miserably. I was young and relatively healthy, of course. But that didn't save me from learning almost immediately that in a game of survival of the fittest; I really didn't stand a chance.

Seven months of odds and ends jobs…of never really knowing if I'd actually have a roof over my head at night blew past; and I was just about at wit's end with everything when I happened across Mrs. Hudson. Or, shall I say, the woman who should have been my mother all along.

She was my mother's sister. The older, more _responsible_ sister, of course. And, refusing to take my many protests seriously, she brought me up to her flat; cleaned me up…gave me a job. She was lonely, she said; living alone what with her husband being as distant as he was. And she had always wanted a daughter…

She saved my life. I owe her everything for that. And she, of all people, was probably the only one who could understand why I shied away from any sort of physical contact. Why I flinched if someone raised their voice. She took it all in stride, and tried to break me of my nervousness as best she could.

And I really couldn't have asked for anything more than that.

….

"Lily! Lily, dear; did you hear anything I just said?"

Shaking myself from my thoughts, I whirled around to face my aunt; the bewilderment in my eyes causing her to let out an airy laugh as she reached forward and squeezed my arm.

"Remember, we've two young men coming to look at the flat upstairs this afternoon" She said; giving me a smile before going on "It would be nice if you were there to meet them as well."

"Of course, mum" I replied; noting the way her eyes lit up, as they always did, when I used that term of endearment for her "I'll be back over as soon as Martin shows up for his shift."

"Alright, love. Don't daydream too much; now…Mr. Hennings might go stealing the salt shakers again."

"Not on my watch."

Watching a moment as she hurried out the door and to the flat; I found myself shaking my head, a faint smile stealing over my lips as I returned to my task of gathering up plates from the table beside the kitchen. The aforementioned Mr. Hennings had vacated this spot, for a table by the door as was his habit; steam rising out of his tea cup as he stared vacantly outside…and, as I finished clearing the nightly mess he always left behind, I couldn't help but wonder.

What would the new tenants bring to our tiny little flat?

…..

Twenty minutes. Martin had picked tonight, of all nights to be _late_ by twenty minutes. And though I knew I really had no reason to be, I was nervous. Panicked, probably, would have been the better word to describe it. Even though my aunt had done her best to get me out of the habit of thinking that even the smallest misstep would result in certain punishment; I couldn't help but succumb to the familiar…to what had been ingrained in me since childhood.

Throwing my coat over my arm, I managed a brief wave to the staff that still remained in the tiny shoppe; before darting outside and to the door of our flat. Once inside, I fumbled with the keys to the apartment I shared with my aunt, hands shaking such that they almost clattered to the ground; before I succeeded in finally nabbing the one I wanted and shoving it in the lock. Turning it quickly, I pushed my way inside; noting the sounds of muffled chatter from the flat above me as I hurriedly tossed my coat on the chair closest to me, before turning tail and heading back out onto the landing.

Catching myself just as I was about to let the door slide shut with a slam, I forced a deep breath; closing my eyes in an attempt to steady myself in the present, not the past…pulling the door shut with a soft click by sheer force of will as I stepped towards the stairs. Late or not, it wouldn't do to appear harried and scatter-brained when meeting the potential flatmates we were entertaining…

I took the stairs two at a time in spite of myself, tugging at the elastic that held my hair in a loose bun at the back of my neck to let my hair down as I reached the landing; and taking note of the open door that came into view with dim light spilling out into the hall. My fingers curled into a fist in a half-hearted attempt to stop the waves of nerves that flooded my body then; and with another deep breath, I stepped as quietly as I could into the small flat, barely catching my aunt's eye as I ducked my head down and spoke.

"Sorry…Martin came in late; and…"

"Oh don't worry dear, these two just arrived anyway" My aunt replied; ushering me into the room as only she could, and not noticing how my cheeks flushed immediately as the two men in the room with her turned their attention to me "This is Dr. John Watson. And of course you've heard of Sherlock Holmes."

I _had_ heard of Sherlock…the man who all but guaranteed my late uncle's death with some sort of mind-boggling deduction…but as the man in question had turned so that he was facing away from me almost as quickly as he had paid heed to my presence; I found myself affording him very little thought, all my attention instead riveted upon his partner as the shorter man reached out a hand to take mine. An innocent gesture, surely enough. But in spite of my silent mantra that he was safe…that he was not a threat…I found myself instinctively sneaking a foot backwards as if to step away. Gritting my teeth, I forced my fears to the side as best I could; digging my heel into the ground as I reached a hesitant hand out towards him, holding my breath as his hand curled around mine for a fraction of a second before it was gone.

"Lily" I supplied then; my voice showing more strength than I felt as I caught the reassuring glance my aunt was giving me before I finished "Lily Hudson."

"Mrs. Hudson's daughter, then?" John asked; looking from me, to my aunt as he awaited a reply in the affirmative. I was acutely aware of something different about him, compared to the other men I had known previously…but before I could give that thought any further attention; the other man…Sherlock…had turned to face me once again, blue-green eyes drilling into me as he corrected Dr. Watson.

"Her niece" He supplied; the way his eyes held mine rendering me unable to look away as my heart begin to pound so loudly I was certain he would hear while he addressed me specifically "How long has it been since you talked to your mother…the one whose name you've discarded?"

Freezing on the spot, I opened my mouth to speak; only to shut it again as I felt the familiar prick of tears behind my eyes. No matter how many years were between my last contact with my mother and now, any mention of her never failed to chill me to the bone. It was as though even the mere _mention_ of her would bring her back to me…as though thinking of her would make me relive all the endless nights of tears and shouts…and as if she knew exactly what I would be going through, I soon felt the warmth of my aunt's hand on my shoulder as she broke through my momentary panic.

"Come now, dear; how about we fix some tea for the boys while they have a look about?"

"O-of course."

Managing a faint smile for the doctor's benefit, I followed my aunt into the kitchen; briefly noting the disarray spread across the table before setting about gathering the necessary items for our task. I could hear the two men strike up a conversation from the next room almost as soon as we had left it…but my mind was far too preoccupied with what Sherlock had just said.

_How had he known_? I had heard of him, of course; but we had never met before. I certainly didn't still bear the ever present bruises and scrapes that were my near constant companions while still under my mother's roof…so how could have possibly learned that I had all but denounced the woman's existence?

It didn't make any sense. But of course, in the days…weeks…_years _to come, I would learn that almost _nothing_ about Sherlock Holmes made any sense.

As I said…this was the beginning of the end.

…..

**Whoo! Finally, another update! I know that I kind of left you all hanging, and I ended up cutting this chapter in the middle of the very first episode, before it really even had a chance to begin. But I do have a plan…a plan for the next chapter that requires a bit more thought (and me, being all anxious to get this out to you before you lose interest, decided to just post it as it is now, and see what came of it).**

**That being said, if it stinks, I can take it down and do some readjusting. I do have a long weekend ahead of me with the Labor Day holiday…but I'm almost hoping that isn't the case. My goal here was to set up some of Lily's past, and then get into the first part of Episode 1. So I hope this meets up with your expectations!**

**As always, thank you so much for reading! Much love to CynthiaSylar for continuing to be so patient with all of my crazy thoughts…and I hope every one of you enjoys what you find here! I can't wait to hear your thoughts, so please…review at will!**

**Until next time…**

**MJR**


	3. Suicides and a Secret

Everyone goes through life, thinking they've seen everything. Attitudes like this are, it would seem, an inherent part of human nature. Almost as if they're naturally bred into us; and impossible to ignore. We don't have to be the most confident person in the world, or the person who's seen the most horror. We just have to exist; and our nature does the rest for us. But, inevitably, a moment comes along that shatters our previously defined perceptions of what we think we know. Something so grand…or so terrible…that it shakes us to our core, whether we would like it to or not.

Even I had gone through life thinking I could never see anything more strange than I already had. Growing up like I did, it seemed only natural to feel that way…not necessarily as a badge of entitlement; but a simple fact. But that, of course, was before I met Sherlock Holmes. It was before I found myself loving him against all reason. And it was certainly before my whole world was turned upside down…never to be righted again.

As busy as I had been preparing tea for our new flat-mates, I barely paid heed to the arrival of yet another man on the doorstep; only faintly aware that he seemed already acquainted with Sherlock as the two men discussed whatever it was that had warranted the newcomer's arrival. The simple task of something as homey as preparing a light afternoon snack had served its intended purpose; namely, to calm my slightly agitated nerves…and needless to say, it was all I could do to prevent myself from dropping the tray I carried back into the main room in surprise as the man who had just arrived left us, and Sherlock became a different man entirely.

With the way he was hopping about, his face lit up with what could only be described as sheer joy; you would think he had just been informed that he had come into a large sum of money. His exuberance certainly startled me, and clearly it had stunned Dr. Watson as well…but perhaps what was even more alarming was not the fact that he had gone from cool and aloof to thrilled in seconds. No. It was the subject that had caused him such delight that completely stunned me; and it was his reaction to such a thing that had me almost tipping the contents of the tray onto the floor.

He was excited about a _suicide_. Or a murder. It wasn't really clear which. To be perfectly honest, it didn't really matter. The only thing that _did_ make a difference was the way in which Dr. Watson had come to stand at my side in a manner of seconds; his hand going out to steady the tray I carried and startling me back into attentiveness so that a minor catastrophe that would have only served to rattle me further had been averted.

Somehow, I had managed a small smile for him; thanking him as was polite, before I set the tray down on the nearest table…but it turned out that my attempts at good housekeeping were entirely unnecessary. Sherlock had darted off just moments after learning of the fourth death, my aunt setting about taking over my abandoned task as I still remained rooted to the spot; and I had just brought forth enough presence of mind to attempt inquiring if the doctor would still like some tea when Sherlock had returned, this time managing to drag Dr. Watson off with him.

That, of course, left me to stand in the living area alone; until my aunt managed to garner my attention, convincing me to follow her downstairs for a shared cup of tea before she left me to return to the shoppe next door. In my solitude, I was at a loss for what to do, save for contemplating the whirlwind that had just occurred upstairs; and latching onto the comment that Dr. Watson had made previously about their new place needing to be 'tidied up', I ventured back upstairs, laptop placed gently in the bag I used to tote it around. I supposed it might be nice for me to clean for them, as a surprise…a sort of housewarming, if you will. But in between tidying shelves and straightening belongings, I would also do my best to uncover the mystery that was Sherlock Holmes. My curiosity about him, sparked by the brief encounter I had just witnessed would permit nothing less.

Making my way back upstairs, I nudged the halfway open door to the side so that I could pass through; tugging my laptop out of its bag and moving to set it down on the counter nearest the door as I turned to look about the room.

It seemed I had my work cut out for me…the kitchen table was a mess; littered with laboratory equipment and scraps of paper. Parts of the couch and surrounding furniture were obscured with miscellaneous bags…articles of clothing…and I found myself sighing in amusement at how this was likely only a taste of what I should expect to become used to; flitting back to my laptop to enter Sherlock's name in the search engine, before setting to work.

The cleaning process went rather quickly, my body shifting into its niche with surprising ease as I passed between furniture and computer; a click and a pause to read this article or another breaking the monotony of tidying the place up as I worked. Much to my disappointment, none of the sources I discovered seemed all that conclusive on what the character of Sherlock Holmes really entailed, aside from confirming that he was an odd fellow, indeed…and I found myself giving up about halfway through my search; instead choosing to focus entirely on making the disarray of the flat a bit less noticeable. I had just managed to take note of the skull sitting atop the hearth; my hands going to scoop it up of their own accord as I tilted my head to the side, trying to figure out what its purpose was…but before I could spend even a moment's time contemplating its reason for existing where it did, I heard the faint tap of something on the wood floor, followed by a rather cool voice addressing me.

"And why, pray-tell, is a girl who should be dead doing research on Sherlock Holmes?"

Whirling around, I found myself all but freezing in place; only barely managing to catch the skull as it made to topple out of my hands to the floor as I looked from the tall man before me to my feet while I attempted to reply in some form of coherent thought.

"I…I'm sorry, but…_who are you_?"

"A concerned third party" The man replied non-chalantly; leaning his weight on the umbrella…the source of the tap I had heard previously…as he went on "You're frightened. You need not be."

Blinking, I shifted uncomfortably on my feet; hastily setting the skull down on the table in front of me as I tried to think of something to say. How had this man known that I was, in fact, legally not among the living; due to a little fancy bribing on my mother's end? How had he known that Sherlock had chosen to live _here_? What else did he know? Was he someone my mother had sent for me? Or did he have dealings with our new tenants? Whoever he was, he did not seem intent upon leaving until he had obtained what he had come here for…and in spite of my ever increasing nerves; I found myself hesitantly stepping around the table and towards him as I asked:

"W-would you care for some tea?"

In retrospect, this was probably the most ridiculous thing I could have possibly said. But it was the only thing I could come up with in my attempt to stall for time, and see what this man had come for…and I supposed that this stranger might be less inclined to kill me, or otherwise harm me if I was polite. At least, it couldn't hurt to try in that endeavor…

"Tea…how quaint" The stranger said then; giving me a look that almost could have resembled a smile before going on "No, tea, thank you. I won't be staying long. I was just curious to see what Sherlock had gotten himself into this time."

"Gotten himself…into?"

"Yes. He _is_ quite adept at seeking out new ways to avoid being bored" The man replied; swinging the umbrella he had been leaning upon up towards him for a moment, and making a show of inspecting the tip before he continued speaking "Sherlock Holmes detests being _bored_."

'_Well I can certainly see that_' I thought to myself; watching the stranger sharing the room with me carefully as I tried to figure out what I was expected to do…to say. He didn't seem that threatening. At least not on the surface. But then again, Reginald really hadn't seemed all that threatening when I first met _him_ either.

"But of course I didn't come all this way just to inquire about _Sherlock_" The man said then; stepping a fraction of an inch closer to me and noting with some curiosity how I had taken a step of my own backwards "I'm more interested in _you_."

"Me?" I managed to squeak out; casting a glance about me on the off chance that someone else may have popped up in the room with us, before I let my attention fall to my hands as they knotted together near my stomach "I'm really not all that interesting…"

"Oh but you _are,_ my dear. Declared dead; all records wiped clean. It looks on paper as though you never even existed. And yet, here you are."

To say I felt anything less than panic in that moment would have been a terrible lie…one I probably couldn't have even pulled off, had I tried. My hands had begun to shake in earnest; my heart racing along erratically…and the only thing that saved me from losing it entirely was the quiet chirp of a text tone, my entire body going slack with relief as the man before me fished the device out of his pants pocket.

"Well I do hope you can excuse me, Miss Jackson" He said; watching as I froze in place at the use of my mother's married name…the name I had denounced, and tried my best to keep secret…while he finished speaking "Duty calls."

I could do nothing but watch as he turned and made to leave; my eyes likely wide as saucepans with everything that had just happened. Before he was really and truly gone though, he turned to me once more; nudging the tip of his umbrella in my direction as he said:

"We'll be in touch."

It was impossible for me to tell how long I remained standing there, staring at the place the stranger had just occupied; at a loss for what to do. It could have been seconds, or minutes; for all I knew. What I _did_ know, was that the arrival of the man had done nothing short of strike fear straight at my heart…and I found myself wanting nothing more than to simply sequester myself downstairs in my bedroom. Where nothing could touch me…

Where the eccentricities of Sherlock Holmes, and his lot could no longer send my nerves into fits.

Forcing myself to action, I hurried over to my laptop; giving the flat a small once over to make sure I had not left anything too out of place as I shut the device down. Certain that the flat was as tidy as it was going to get, I scooped the computer up and carried it over to turn the light down by the sofa before leaving. I had been prepared to turn back for the door at that point, my mind intent on getting out of this place and to the safety of my own flat; but it was then that my eyes chose to notice the skull that I had left, perched precariously on the edge of the coffee table. Hesitating a moment, unsure of what to do; I pursed my lips, and tried to come to a quick decision. The thing intrigued me about as much as it disgusted my aunt…and knowing that, were she to find it after my cleaning, she would likely just throw it away; I hastily stored it in my bag along with the computer before making my way back towards the door.

With as distracted and out of sorts as I was with everything that had just occurred, I suppose it stood to reason that I had completely missed the sound of footsteps ascending the stairs as I made to leave the flat at last…and I found myself jumping in shock, a startled cry escaping as I bumped into a tall man wearing a long coat; and carrying a bright pink case in his right hand.

"Hello, Lily…"

Looks like I wouldn't be escaping as quickly as I had thought.

…

**Hi there! Betcha didn't think I'd be back so soon with another update, did you? Hehe…I almost didn't have this all squared away in time; given that I was supposed to be working on my next chapter for my Star Trek story. But for some reason I felt more like writing Sherlock today…and thus, this little chapter came to exist!**

**So, what did you think!? Poor Lily had a bit thrown at her this time around…and I really can't wait to get to the next chapter! Lord only knows what will happen next! (wink) As always, a huge thank you to everyone taking the time to read and review this little idea of mine. I couldn't do it without you!**

**Feel free to leave me your thoughts, and I will reply to them as soon as I can! Until the next time…**

**MJR**


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